Saturday, October 31, 2009

Friday, October 30, 2009

This is my one hundredth post. So congratulations, blog. You are a century old.

I admit I had sort of planned a special "100th" post, which was going to feature 100 fun facts about me. I even wrote 20 last week before I hit "save now." And now I wish there was just a "save" button to rescue that idea from the drafts box. Because today I'm too busy making tea for Abe and blowing my nose to think of 80 more things about myself. (80? I think that's the number of tissues I've used in the past two days.)

I'm sick with a cold, and Abe came home from work last night with flu symptoms, so today we both called in sick. So far today we have slept until almost noon, fed the cats, and put laundry in the dryer. Also, we cooked a huge breakfast like this:but not exactly this, because this picture's from our trip to Tennessee. (What can I say, it's a breakfast favorite: eggs with mushrooms and spinach and breakfast potatoes with onions, garlic, and orange peppers). You can hardly expect me to cook and take pictures, with this rhinovirus taking over my body.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Here it is, and it is so easy that even you can make it at home. Yes, I mean you, Dad, who does not cook anything except in the microwave. And you, college student, who lives in a dorm room with only a mini-fridge and one set of plastic dishes. (No, I don't mean you, Karen! You ate an average of 3 donuts a day over the weekend, so you can't have any ice cream.)

It goes a little something like this: Chop up some salted almonds. Put them on top of vanilla ice cream. Mmmm.

I don't have a picture of the ice cream, because that's what God gave you an imagination for. But I do have a picture of the donuts.

Saturday, October 24, 2009

You'll have to suffer without me until Monday, because Abe and I are off to New York this weekend for a quick visit with some of his relatives. Since his grandfather owns a cider mill in Cortland, I'm fairly certain that I'll be too busy admiring the fall foliage and eating pie to update.

Friday, October 23, 2009

One of my presents this birthday was a bluetooth headset. I was a little surprised when Abe handed it to me, and thought that either my mother bribed him to give it to me, or my husband is under the impression that I am a terrible driver. (Surely not because I told him that I once tried to back out of my parent's garage with the garage door still closed? And it can't be from the time that I got my car stuck in the landscaping at a local shopping center? Hey. It was dark. I was tired.)

Anyway, at first I resisted the bluetooth, because:

I blame my bad driving on genetics (sorry, Mom), not cell phone use.

And I'm not sure I've ever seen anyone under the age of 40 using a bluetooth outside of a cell phone store.

And people who use bluetooths walk around looking like they're talking to themselves.

And I look crazy enough all by myself. (See above).

And my mom used to drive me crazy, trying to answer her phone when her bluetooth was set to automatically pick up. I would hear her faintly say, "hello?" and I would shout, "Mom! I'm on your headseat, in your purse!" and she would hang up on me. I thought, "A bluetooth makes me feel frustrated and small and helpless."

But then I tried it. I turned it on, and this bluetooth voice spoke into my ear. It told me, "Say command." And a whole new world was born. In this new world, I am powerful. I am Batlady!* I speak, and my bluetooth obeys. I imagine that I can tell my bluetooth to do anything, and it will. Cleaning the litter box, taking cough medicine, and working on holidays are no longer things I have to face alone! Because if I wanted to, I think I could tell my bluetooth, "You do it." My bluetooth has empowered me, and so far, I have kept this wonderful illusion alive by limiting my commands to a short list (which appears on my phone when you push the bluetoothy button. Another miracle: My bluetooth can cooperate with technology! This is amazing, since alone I have trouble convincing a photocopier to put out). I say, "Call [anyone]." And it does! My bluetooth asks "Did you say, 'call [anyone]'?" And I say "you know it!"** And it says, "Calling..." I can say "Listen voicemail" (like a caveman, but I don't think they had voicemail. Probably just actualsnail mail). I can say "Time and date," and my bluetooth will tell me. I can say "missed calls," and my bluetooth will list who and when. Having a bluetooth is better than having a secretary, because you don't have to pay their wages or worry they'll seduce your partner.

Here are other great things about my bluetooth:

I can call you while I'm washing dishes. Look, Ma! No hands!

I look like I'm crazy, so people leave me alone.

It is the only way I know to make my clients be quiet. They come to the pod shouting, and I point to my ear. Suddenly, their voice drops to a loud whisper. "I'm sorry! I didn't know you were on the phone." (No, Ma, I don't usually answer my phone at work. But sometimes work folk call me on my cell, so I keep it handy.)

It's smaller than my earrings. (I wear big earrings. This is because I am "so native," according to my noisy clients.)

Thursday, October 22, 2009

That, from an actual bumper sticker, and this photo, are proof that I went to Tennessee. You never know when you might need an alibi, so it's always good to have proof. Like when the ASPCA comes a-knockin' on my door, asking if I consider myself to be a competant cat mother when my cats have fleas for the second time in a year. I'll be fine! I have proof. I'll just show them this photo as evidence that I was out of town that weekend. (And then I can go to jail for sure, because I don't think the ASPCA is very pro-coon skin cap.)

The thing about my cats having fleas? That's true. I'm not too worried, because I am basically a professional exterminator at this point. In college I lived in a house where the infestation was so bad that the university paid to put us all up in a schmancy hotel. While we enjoyed the heated pool and complained about the long walk to campus, they built a tent over the entire building and flea-bombed repeatedly. Last year I freaked out when a friend's pet brought fleas into our apartment. Poor kittens. They were more annoyed by incessant searching through their fur for fleas than they were by the fleas. Also, we vacuumed constantly (ah-ha!), and they hate the vacuum. This time, I'm handling the situation like a seasoned professional. (This means that I threw down everything I was doing when Abe found the first flea in order to run to the vet for flea/tick/heartworm drops that cost almost as much as two nights in Tennessee.)

The thing about two nights in Tennessee is Can I Have Them, Please? Because the only thing I didn't like about our mini-vacation to Gatlinburg was the fact that it ended. It was a-maz-ing, and I took pictures of our meals like food blogging's my job. Lucky for the internet, food blogging is not my job, because we ate mostly unoriginal things like pizza biscuits and pecan pancakes and grilled chicken/grilled vegetables. But it was delicious, and I can't spoil Christmas by posting about my Christmas crafts, so you can look forward to reading about it anyway.

I also have pictures of nearly everything else we did - nearly - so you can look forward to some scenic vistas, since I have given up entirely on posting photos on facebook. More like, I-want-to-hit-you-in-the-face-book, because you keep loading all my pictures over and over again like everything's fine, and then telling me "upload failed!" after twenty minutes. Facebook, you are fired.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Leave me your best birthday wishes, because Abe is whisking me away to a cabin in the Tennessee mountains! When I get back, I'll have exciting stories to tell about how we ate, slept, watched an obscene number of movies, and soaked in the hot tub on the deck of our cabin.

And I'll definitely try to liven it up in here, because I know it's been a little quiet this week. See you on Wednesday!

Sunday, October 11, 2009

Thanks for giving me coffee, a loving husband, and a great weekend. I'm so grateful for my weekend, in fact, that it would be fine if You wanted to make it last longer. I mean, since You're God, and if it wouldn't be too much trouble.

Also, please watch over my family on their travels. I trust them in Your hands, because You've been so good to me.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Lately, I've sort of been busy waiting for God to tell me what's next. Or maybe I've been busy telling Him what I'd like to be next (Earthship on a little plot of land, Masters in vocational or school counseling, light-weight Franc, and maybe a trip overseas. Thanks, God, for asking!)

I've been getting impatient. And restless. And grouchy. My bad.

If you want to know how real you are, test yourself by these words - "Come unto Me." In every degree in which you are not real, you will dispute rather than come, you will quibble rather than come, you will go through sorrow rather than come, you will do anything rather than come the last lap of unutterable foolishness - "Just as I am." As long as you have the tiniest bit of spiritual impertinence, it will always reveal itself in the fact that you are expecting God to tell you to do a big thing, and all He is telling you to do is to "come."

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Here is what I learned on Saturday: Dessert for 20 people is no problem if they gorge themselves on snacks and three kinds of casserole first. It also helps if you are upstaged by your incredible sister-in-law, who somehow manages to pack both a 6 week old baby and two homemade apple pies. Don't worry - this crisp dessert is so easy that if your sister-in-law (and her pie) is as amazing as mine, you won't feel remotely bitter that her pies got all the attention. (In fact, that's actually an ingenius tactic to make sure you get to eat more crisp yourself.)

So here's how to make yummy Apple Blueberry Crisp that will feed 50, if you stuff them full enough first and serve it with ice cream. (Or one, if you leave it alone with me for 5 minutes.)

Peel and slice four apples. Mix the slices with a splash of lemon juice, a dash of cinnamon, and a small handful of sugar. Stir! Put the apples in a 9x13 pan, then sprinkle on a decent cup on blueberries. (Frozen is fine) It should look like this:You're almost done. Already? Yes. I told you it was easy.

In another bowl, mix a cup of oats, 1/3 cup of flour (whole wheat, please!), another dash of cinnamon, a small handful of brown sugar, an even smaller handful of white sugar, a little lemon zest, and a stick of butter. A stick? Yes. I promised delicious, not low-cholesterol. No one said this was health food. Use a wooden spoon or a pastry cutter if you have it to mix the topping together. Do not get smart and think that a whisk is really just a pastry cutter on a long handle. All the butter will immediately jump to hide inside the whisk, and with one stupid idea, you will have turned this easy recipe into the stuff of nightmares where there are oats eternally glued under your fingernails.

Drop bits of topping all over your berry/apple mix, and bake at 375 for about half an hour. Ta da!

Monday, October 5, 2009

This weekend:Number of warm bodies in my house: 6Number of bedrooms in my house: 1Number of warm bodies in the bedroom at my house on four legs: 3Number of warm bodies that were feline: 2Number of warm bodies that were 70 pound labs: 1Number of felines successfully befriended by the lab: 0Number of meals eaten at home: maybe 1?Number of potlucks attended: 2Number of calories consumed: more than enough for everyone who attended,everyone reading this and the 70 pound lab.

And today?Number of enflamed tonsils in my throat: 2Number of times the chiropractor adjusted my neck this morning: 4Number of cookies I was inspired to bake for him: 100Number of residents on my case load: 17Number of times I've checked the clock to see if it's 11:00 yet: 1,000

About Me

I grew up in Cameroon, went to college in Charleston, fell in love with Portland, and now I live in Charlotte. My husband and I recently bought a house, filled it with pets, and started gardening in the backyard. I blog because my sister thinks I'm funny.